


Like Russian Roulette

by dragonspell



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lip accidentally walks in on Ian and Mickey.</p><p>(This is not a happy fic.  Trigger warning for rape/non-con).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Russian Roulette

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: marked as Rape/non-con because Mickey does tell Ian to stop.
> 
> Also, since it has been brought to my attention: In this fic, the possibility of Ian's dark side has nothing to do with his bipolar disorder, and everything to do with the possibility of something that Ian's had inside of him all along (such as when he nearly smashed Lip's head against the bathtub). The bipolar disorder, however, makes it harder to rein himself back in as he's done in the past. If this disturbs you, _please do not read._ If reading non-con between Ian and Mickey (in the middle of a formerly consensual encounter) disturbs you, _please do not read._

It’s just a small thing, a little worry at the back of his mind. Lip bats it around, pulling it out a few times to think about and then finally acts on it without making a conscious decision. He finds himself standing outside the Milkovich house, hands in his pockets as he eyes the door. He can’t call because he needs to see. It’s harder for someone to lie to him when the truth is staring Lip right in the face.

So, he’ll stop in, he’ll see Ian, and he’ll make sure that everything is alright. That’s all. It’s not a big deal. And if certain people start getting antsy, Lip can bounce. He just needs to know, needs to see.

It had been almost cruel to get that call, to come home and find Ian laying like some broken mannequin on Mickey’s bed. Like, Jesus, with all the fucked shit that they’d already dealt with—Frank, Monica, having the entire fucking world try to screw them over—couldn’t they catch just one break? Couldn’t they manage to finally leave their shitty parents and shitty childhoods behind? Monica had caught up to Ian, fucked him up possibly forever, and she hadn’t even had to be near him. Life fucking sucked sometimes. Oh, sure, there was the _chance_ that it wasn’t bipolar, just like there’s the chance that when you play Russian roulette that a bullet’s not going to go through your skull.

Lip’s never believed in happy endings—not for their messed-up lives. Happy endings were things that you bought and they were out of the Gallagher price range.

Lip knocks on the door, frowns when nobody answers. He tries again. With all the people regularly in and out of the house, it’s kind of unheard of for there not to be anybody home. And he pretty much knows that Ian should be in at least.

The worry that was in the back of his mind inches forward and Lip pushes open the door. The Milkovich house is always unlocked; someone would have to be fucking crazy to try and rob them and the entire Southside knows it. 

Mandy’s gone, probably at work, and Kenyatta’s definitely fucking at work because Lip had made sure of that. He wasn’t a pussy but he wasn’t fucking stupid and Kenyatta was King Kong, man. Fucking terrifying in a dumb way. Lip steps into the house and it’s eerie at how there doesn’t seem to be anybody around. None of Mickey’s brothers are hanging about, though the TV’s on for some reason, and the Russian whores are likely down at the Alibi making their few bucks a wank. Even the baby’s gone, probably getting schooled in the finer points of bartending and pimping. 

Lip shuts off the TV out of habit. In the newfound silence, however, he hears sounds of life and he turns. It’s a choking little gasp, labored breathing, coming from Mickey’s room. An image of Ian curled up in his little ball under the blankets, unable to give a fuck about anything, unable to move, unable to function at all, flashes through Lip’s mind and he moves to where the bedroom door is cracked open. He hesitates, afraid of what he’s going to see. A part of him—a very stupid part—wants to think that last time was just a one-time thing, that Ian’s never going be that bad again. It’s all just pissing into the wind, though, because Lip only tries to believe that because Ian deserves better than to have to deal with Monica’s shit. Lip cautiously pushes the door open a little more.

The first thing that he sees isn’t Ian. It’s Mickey, kneeling in the center of the bed, his eyes closed and his mouth open as he makes that choking little gasp again. He’s also stark fucking naked, with his hands stretched downward and Lip finally sees Ian’s big hands holding Mickey’s hips and his ginger head facing toward Lip because Ian’s flat on his back watching Mickey go at it. Mickey’s dick is bouncing against Ian’s stomach and he’s hard. Oh, holy fucking shit. Lip freezes. He knows that he needs to get the fuck out and let them go about their business but he can’t get himself to take those steps backward. His brain isn’t working right at the moment. 

Mickey stops in mid-fuck, his eyes snapping open like he just _knows_ that someone is watching him, and he looks straight at Lip. “If you know what’s fucking good for you,” he snarls, “you’ll get the fuck out of here, right fucking now.” Lip’s brain fails to process what Mickey just said, too stuck on what’s in front of his eyes. They are definitely… His brother is definitely…

 _In_ Mickey Milkovich. Christ.

Ian pushes his head against the bed and lifts his chin to try and look at the door upside down. “Who is it?” he asks Mickey. He doesn’t sound concerned, just curious, like they’d just been eating breakfast and Lip had happened to stop by, not like he’d just caught them fucking and was now standing there like a dumbshit, staring.

“Your fucking brother,” Mickey says, still glaring at Lip. “Lip.” It’s obvious that he wants to get back to what they were doing and Lip can’t exactly blame him for that. Lip takes a step back, finally processing enough to know that he’d be better off just fucking calling or something, but he freezes again when Mickey’s glare suddenly goes weak. Mickey’s mouth opens again in another soft little gasp before he’s fully aware that he’s done it and grits his teeth to try and stop it from happening again. “Fuck, Ian!” he growls. He’s as threatening as a porno.

Ian laughs and pushes up into Mickey again, making Mickey clench his hands against Ian’s chest. It’s weird, embarrassing as fuck, and, disturbingly, just a little bit hot. Lip’s disgusted at himself.

Ian’s hands move up Mickey’s body and then Ian surges upward, toppling Mickey from his position on top. Ian’s eyes meet Lip’s and there’s something there that sends a shot of ice water down Lip’s spine. Mickey’s swearing at Ian, his hands pushing at Ian’s shoulders as he’s trapped under Ian’s body, legs spread wide to accommodate, but Ian keeps staring directly at Lip. “Get the fuck off me!” Mickey barks. “Jesus Christ, Ian, what the fuck are you doing?” Ian smirks at Lip and rocks his hips forward, shoving himself into Mickey, giving the swearing a breathless tone before stopping it all together. Mickey’s fingers curl against Ian’s shoulders, his leg rising to curl over Ian’s back. Then, like he remembers again, Mickey arches up to look at Lip upside down. His eyes widen and he flops back down, going back to swearing and struggling underneath Ian, working to get out from under him. “Shit, Ian, come on, get off me. Stop, man, your brother’s fucking here… _Christ_.” Ian holds Mickey down and fucks him, ignoring the protests and the way that Mickey’s trying to shove him off, as he keeps staring directly at Lip, his smirk like a challenge.

It’s not Ian that’s looking at him, Lip thinks. It can’t be, this stranger that’s staring Lip down, daring him to say something _(or join the fuck in)_. But it is. It’s all Ian, dark side and everything.

And if Lip wants to be honest—wants to be truly fucking honest and not try to rose color his shit-stained life—then he knows that it’s always been Ian. This thing that’s controlling his brother right now is something that’s always been inside of Ian, just waiting for the right moment to pop up and fuck them all.

Ian finally drops his eyes to mouth along Mickey’s jaw line and it’s like whatever freaky voodoo magic that was keeping Lip in place is lifted. Lip backpedals immediately, throwing out a half-hearted “I’ll check back later” as Mickey keeps swearing and Ian keeps fucking. Lip’s back out in the living room when he hears the swearing turn into moans as Mickey apparently gives in and Lip tosses out the half-formed thought that maybe he should try and stop what was going on in there. Mickey’s going to go with it, accepting whatever fucked-up thing Ian’s doing and it’s none of Lip’s business. In between moans, Lip’s out the door, slamming it behind him and jogging down the steps.

His earlier worries are no longer in the back of his mind. They are front and fucking center because there’s no way that Lip can pretend that Ian’s fine, that this thing is going away, because it’s fucking not and no amount of wishful thinking on his part or Mickey’s or even Ian’s is going to make it. It’s there.

Like a bullet to the brain.


End file.
